


l'amour looks something like you

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Pre-Slash, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: A collection of Gradence ficlets, mostly unrelated to each other, that didn't feel large enough to be separate fics.





	1. index

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will have its own rating, but the overall rating of the fic reflects the highest currently posted (subject to change). Tags for fic overall, and will be added as chapters are added.
> 
> Title from the song by Kate Bush.

### three rings

**(chapter two)** 300 words, G

Three rings Credence wears in his life with Percival. 

**Warning: major character death in this ficlet.**

### the locket

**(chapter three)** 760 words, G, pre-slash

Credence receives a locket for Christmas. Graves wonders whose photo he puts inside.

### five pieces of paper

**(chapter four)** 500 words, T

Five pieces of paper. One year of marriage.

### in your room

**(chapter five)** 1097 words, T

Credence takes a look around Graves's room, while he's out, and falls asleep in his bed. Rated T.


	2. three rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three rings Credence wears in his life with Percival. Rated G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: major character death in this ficlet.**
> 
> each section is a drabble in the traditional definition i.e. exactly 100 words long. i didn't spend as much time on this as usual as it was just a throwaway idea i had when i remembered i wanted to give credence a fede ring [in this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252835) but i forgot.
> 
> also the character death is at the end but they both live long (very long) happy fulfilled lives and die of natural causes well past the age of 100.

i.

The engagement ring is a simple affair. Gold. Two hands clasped, a gesture of fidelity. An inscription which reads 'if it be give me thine hand'. It's been in the Graves family for centuries, Percival says, as he slips it onto Credence's trembling finger. The ring is slight; Credence can barely feel its weight. But he's certain he feels the inscription, hot, like a brand. Burning into his flesh. A pleasant burn, though, to be Percival's. To be loved so. 'You're crying,' says Percival, a gentle hand brushing away Credence's tears. 'I'm so happy,' he whispers and Percival kisses him. 

ii.

Their weddings bands are formed of gold, mixed with strands of hair. Percival's hair, black and silver, for Credence, and Credence's for Percival. An old witch plucks the strands from their heads, whispers her secret spell to blend them, perfectly, with the molten metal. Credence's stomach warms as he watches her create these symbols of devotion. Simple bands engraved only with their initials and the date of the ceremony. When that day comes, they slip the rings onto each other's fingers, then clasp their hands together as they speak their vows, mirroring the small gold hands on Credence's engagement ring.

iii.

In years to come, Credence will wear yet another ring. This one formed from a lock of his own hair, worn by Percival all those years, those decades. Maybe he should have had Percival interred with it but he couldn't bear to leave it on that lifeless, beloved hand. A selfish gesture, perhaps, to leave Percival without this token of their love. It sits on Credence's wizened ring finger with the engagement ring and the wedding band he has worn for ninety years. He will wear this ring for five years until he joins his love once more, in eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find [me on tumblr](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> credence's engagement ring [is a fede ring](http://withtheseringshandmade.com/history-of-wedding-rings/) and [based on this specific one](http://artofmourning.com/2013/04/10/hold-hands-with-this-beautiful-fede-ring/). the inscription is taken from that ring and is also from 2 kings 10:15


	3. the locket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence receives a locket for Christmas. Graves wonders whose photo he puts inside. Pre-slash. Rated G.

Queenie Goldstein presents Credence with the locket on a cold Christmas morning, in 1928.

'Just because we don't celebrate Christmas, doesn't mean we didn't want to get you something, honey,' she says, handing over the small parcel from herself and Tina. 

Graves watches from his chair beside the fire, as Credence pulls at the gold ribbon with careful fingers, revealing a small red box. He opens it and holds up the contents with a pleased smile.

'It's very beautiful,' he says, turning the silver locket this way and that. It glints in the soft, warm light, as it dangles from the chain draped over Credence's fingers. He prises it open, inspecting the inside. 'But whose photo can I put in it?' He looks up, biting his lip. 

'A friend,' says Queenie. 'Or a sweetheart,' she adds with a wink. 

Credence blushes, prettily, and murmurs, 'I don't have a sweetheart.'

Graves looks away, throat tight, as Queenie squeezes his arm and says, 'Not yet,' thinking that, with Credence's face, it won't be long before some young witch or wizard sweeps him off his feet. The sooner the better, and then maybe Graves can rid himself of the fantasy it could be him, for once and for all. He sips his cocoa and suppresses a sigh. 

Credence catches his eye, and smiles at him. Graves's stomach flips. He smiles back and thinks, at least he has this.

__

Credence wears the locket beneath his shirt, over his heart. Graves only knows this because he walks in on Credence dressing, one day, and sees the hint of silver against the dark hair on Credence's pale chest. Graves quickly turns away, face heating, like he's not seen countless men, in various states of undress, before.

'Do you need something?' Credence asks, voice soft in the quiet room. There is the rustle of fabric as he does his buttons up with long, deft fingers.

Graves glances at him, then away again, before he answers, 'It's fine. It can wait.' He shuts the door behind him, too hard. 

The thought of Credence half undressed stays with him all day, but it is the locket that stays with him longer. He wonders whose photo might be hidden inside. Someone from Credence's new family, or old? Perhaps a secret lover? Jealousy surges at the thought of this imaginary romance and Graves feels foolish. Still, Credence is beautiful, and sweet. It's not unreasonable to imagine someone wooing Credence, the way Graves wants to.

He considers just asking Credence whose photo he chose, but doesn't want to intrude. Credence is a private person – he has that in common with Graves – and, though they live together, are friends, good friends, he hopes, if Credence doesn't want to tell him, then he simply won't.

But curiosity grows as the weeks pass – Graves overanalyses every encounter he witnesses Credence have with a pretty witch, or handsome wizard – and when Graves sees the locket laying on the bathroom counter, after Credence has showered one morning, that curiosity finally gets the better of him. He picks the locket up, tests the weight of it in his hand. Imagines the cool metal warmed by Credence's soft skin. He cracks it open, letting it lay in the palm of his hand.

Several long moments pass before he can bring himself to look at it. His breath catches when he sees a small photo of himself staring back at him. He looks serious, almost grim, but then his mouth quirks, his eyes warm. The photo was taken when the little family they have cobbled together was picnicking in Central Park, in the spring. Graves had protested, when the camera was turned on him, but everyone insisted and, as the shutter went off, Credence had looked at him and Graves had smiled. Credence had proclaimed it a nice photo when it was developed and Graves was surprised to find he agreed. He closes the locket, grasping it tight in his fist.

Hope sparks within him. Could this mean Credence returns his feelings, after all? Has his doubt been for nothing, all this time? The same small smile his photo wears graces his own face, now, and he carefully places the locket back on the counter. He resolves to tell Credence how he feels, the knowledge that Credence wears a photo of him, close to his heart, steeling him with the courage he has, thus far, lacked.

Tonight, he thinks, as he leaves the bathroom, door clicking softly behind him. After dinner. That's when he'll tell Credence. That's when he'll know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr @gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Look at that, another jewellery related ficlet! I'm still struggling to write anything, but I've had this idea for a while, so I thought I'd see if I could just write something quick and sweet, while my longer fics take a bit of a backseat.
> 
> (This was originally a single chapter fic, of just the ficlet/triple drabble in the first chapter, but I decided to turn it into a ficlet collection, instead.)


	4. five pieces of paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five pieces of paper. One year of marriage. Rated T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since I posted the first chapter of my first Gradence fic! Have some drabbles to celebrate. (All about paper because paper is given on the first anniversary).

i. 

A piece of paper floats before Credence as he lies tangled in sweaty sheets, propped on one elbow. The words 'certificate of marriage' – stark black ink on creamy parchment – make his heart leap. A simple piece of paper with so much meaning. Behind him, Percival stirs. He runs a hand down Credence's back.

'Are you still staring at that?' Percival hooks his chin over Credence's shoulder. 'It isn't going to change.'

'No, but...I still can't believe it's real.' The paper floats into his hand. He holds it gingerly. 'We're really married.'

Percival gently kisses his shoulder. 'Yes, we are.'

ii. 

Something falls from the pocket of Credence's jacket as Graves hangs it up. He bends down and picks the small item up. It's a matchbook from their honeymoon to Niagara Falls. He shakes his head, smiling. Credence doesn't smoke and neither does he. But Credence had collected keepsakes left, right and centre. 

When Graves had asked about the collection of ephemera he was amassing, Credence turned shy, sheepish, and said, 'For a long time there wasn't anything I wanted to remember. But now...I don't want to forget anything.'

Graves's heart had twisted in his chest. He didn't question Credence's collection after that.

iii. 

While they were courting, Percival would send Credence love letters, transcribed poems, quotes that reminded him of Credence. He still does. Credence keeps every single one, bundles them together, tied with a bright red ribbon, stowed in the top drawer of his desk. He takes them out, sometimes, reads them over though he knows them all by heart. 

'You're not reading those letters again?' 

Credence nods at Percival over the top of the paper clutched in his hands.

'Sentimental guff,' Percival says, blushing.

Credence lowers the letter and smiles, now. 'No, Percy, they're beautiful.'

Percival sighs. 'Whatever you say, darling.'

iv.

A warm breeze blows through the window, bringing the scent of honeysuckle, catching the sheet music. It flutters but Graves catches it before it falls.

'Thank-you, Percy,' says Credence, fingers sinking into the piano keys. He's playing a slow, sweet tune he has proclaimed to be 'their song'.

Graves runs a hand along the back of Credence's neck, sitting beside him on the stool. Pressed together it's almost too warm on a day like today but Graves doesn't care. Just sits beside Credence, turning the sheet when asked and humming along absently as his love plays their song for him.

v. 

A crumpled sheet of paper sits on the floor, discarded. The foil side glints, catching the light of the fire burning in the grate.

In the bed, nearby, two men lie curled up together, sated and sleepy and terribly in love.

'You liked the present, then?'

'Mmm.' Credence thinks of the small box that had been wrapped in red foil paper. The shining, engraved cufflinks nestled within.

'I'm glad.' Percival presses a kiss to the top of Credence's head, pulls him close. 'Happy anniversary, darling.'

Credence closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep. He squeezes Percival's side. 'Happy anniversary, Percy.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 'anniversary, Percy' rhymes, which wasn't intentional on my part, but, well, I'm leaving it. Haha.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr @gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/)


	5. in your room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence takes a look around Graves's room, while he's out, and falls asleep in his bed. Rated T.
> 
> Approx 1097 words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoiler/warnings!**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> OK, no warnings, as such, but Credence probably oversteps some boundaries by going through Graves's things, putting on his clothes, etc., without Graves knowing. Graves wouldn't mind if he knew but yeah. Just thought I'd mention it.

Credence stole into Mr Graves's room in stockinged feet, quiet as a mouse, barely breathing, even though Mr Graves was at work. He had finally succumbed to his curiosity about the man, and his bedroom, and decided to look around. Mr Graves had told him if he needed anything, he could come in here, but, still, Credence felt like he was doing something wrong.

Motes of dust were caught in the shaft of light, filtering through the crack of the heavy drapes, illuminating Mr Graves's ornate furniture. The bookcases, the armoire, the-the...bed that Credence tried not to look at. Tried not to think of Mr Graves slipping between the soft sheets at night, wearing the silk pyjamas Credence had been so pleased to see him wearing the first morning he came to live here.

He moved to the closet, let his hands drift over the rich fabric of Mr Graves's clothes. He wondered if they would fit him. The thought, once in his mind, wouldn't leave, and so he slipped out of his clothes, leaving them in a neat pile. Standing only in his underwear, Credence looked at Mr Graves's clothes hanging before him. He chose a crisp shirt and slid it on, doing up the buttons with trembling fingers. Next, trousers, suspenders, a vest and jacket. The smell of Mr Graves was faint on the clean clothes, but enough that Credence felt the man was with him. 

He moved to the mirror and flushed. The clothes fit him well enough – he had been surprised when he realised he and Mr Graves were more or less the same size – though they were too short. Credence shook his head and turned away. He looked ridiculous in the other man's clothes. He took them off again, and hung them back up, whispering a spell to get the wrinkles out. Next he tried the drawers that contained Mr Graves's socks, his underwear. He fingered the soft fabric of his union suit, let his fingers drift over the buttons at the crotch. His face grew warm.

He left the clothes, heart pounding, and found Mr Graves's cologne. He thought he would get a handkerchief, later, and pour some on, take it back to his room. For now, he daubed some on his own skin, not even stopping to worry that Mr Graves may smell it on him, later. He looked at the books, the ornaments, the photographs. Each telling a part of the story that was Mr Graves.

All the while the bed sat in the middle of the room, big and lush and inviting. Eventually, the call was too strong and Credence finally relented. Still in only his underwear, he slid under the sumptuous covers of Mr Graves's bed, sitting back against the pillow. His hands landed on something soft and he realised they were Mr Graves's pyjamas. He lifted them to his face and inhaled. The scent of Mr Graves was heavy on them. What if he put them on, he thought? He flushed to think of it but he had come this far. And, so, he removed his underwear, barely pausing to luxuriate in the feel of Mr Graves's sheets against his skin before he slipped the pyjamas on.

The fabric was cool against his skin but soon warmed. His blood heated as he thought that his skin was touching fabric that had touched Mr Graves's skin. His underarms, his chest. His thighs had been in the pants. And other parts of him, besides, that Credence tried desperately not to think of, while a familiar warmth built low in his belly. He dug his nails into his palms. He should take the pyjamas off, leave, go back to his room. But he didn't. Instead, he sunk down into the bed, pulled the covers over his face. The scent of Mr Graves was all around him. He felt embraced by the man.

He ran his hands over his silk clad skin, imagining it was Mr Graves touching him. Or did he imagine it was him, touching Mr Graves?

Did he do this because he wanted to be Mr Graves? Have the confidence, or the bravado, at least, he still had, despite everything? Or did he just want to belong to Mr Graves, the way his shirts, his books, his pyjamas did?

He turned onto his stomach, stuck his head under Mr Graves's pillow with a groan. His feelings for Mr Graves grew by the day, as did his frustration and confusion. He sighed and turned onto his back. The warmth of the heavy quilt and the scent of Mr Graves lulled Credence to sleep, despite his emotional turmoil. He slept deeper than he ever had in his life and didn't even wake when a voice called out his name and the door creaked open.

__

Graves stared down at Credence, sleeping in his bed. Wearing his pyjamas. A frown slowly creased his brow. He had told Credence he could go anywhere in the apartment—it was his home after all—and that included his room. But he had thought only that Credence might need to get one of the books Graves kept in his room. He never expected to find Credence napping in his bed, let alone wearing his pyjamas.

The early evening light painted Credence's face, which was relaxed and soft in sleep. Graves had been awoken more than once by Credence's nightmares—and Credence by his—so he knew that Credence was not usually so restful a sleeper. He told himself that's why he couldn't bear to wake Credence, ask what he was doing here. That seeing Credence in his bed didn't please some primal part of him. He sucked in a deep breath and shook himself. He couldn't think about those things. He wouldn't.

He pulled the covers up over Credence, and pressed a soft, indulgent kiss to his forehead. He ran an idle thumb gently along Credence's cheekbone, and then quietly left his room. Best to let Credence sleep, he thought, ignoring the warmth that had spread through him when he saw Credence in his bed. That had only continued to build when the desires he'd thought he'd quelled came rushing to the surface. He wanted Credence in his bed for reasons other than stolen naps. Perhaps...but, no. Credence needed rest and Graves needed to think. And a healthy dose of whisky. He would talk to Credence when he woke up. As he swilled his whisky around in the tumbler before drinking some he thought, mournfully, if only he knew what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr [@gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Marking this as complete as, for the time being, I'm not sure if/when I'll write more for this ship. (Though that doesn't mean I never will - inspiration may strike, after all). But this ficlet was nearly finished so I decided to polish it up and post it! I started it back in October. Wow. I think the end is a little rushed but I just wanted to finish it up.


End file.
